User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Tavern of the Rusted Claw/@comment-3135907-20150410175241/@comment-3135907-20160423202834

Scurvin yawned. "Wish I could, mates, wish I could, but this 'ere," -he cocked a thumb at his chest- "is one tired stoat. I think I'll turn in." The seasoned master of dice turned and started to make his way to the forecastle cabins where a mug of hot soup and a warm bedroll awaited him.